


Darkness

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not easy working without a Crew. He’s not used to working alone. For years, they’ve always had his back. Now there’s nobody but Slick.</p><p>Which means that nobody’s there to warn him about the spray nozzles, and Slick gets an eye full of tea gas. He fights through it, manages to break down the door and smash in the skull of the asshole who set it. But he’s late reaching the sink, and even once he washes the searing pain out, he still can’t see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

It’s not easy working without a Crew. He’s not used to working alone. For years, they’ve always had his back. Now there’s nobody but Slick.

Which means that nobody’s there to warn him about the spray nozzles, and Slick gets an eye full of tear gas. He fights through it, manages to break down the door and smash in the skull of the asshole who set it. But he’s late reaching the sink, and even once he washes the searing pain out, he still can’t see. At least there’s a working phone, and a doctor he knows he can trust. 

“Give it two weeks. We’ll know if it’s permanent or not.” She tells Slick, and if he wasn’t putting his life in her hands, he would gut her right here and now for that bad news. Two fucking weeks, and that’s just to know if his eyesight will come back or not. 

In better days, the Crew would be here to watch his back while he healed up. Boxcars would probably stuff Slick full of food, and Deuce would insist on trying to read to Slick. Droog at least would tell Slick what was happening. But there’s nobody in the hideout, and Slick’s left alone to fend for himself. He does his best to keep himself fed, his hand blindly feeling in the cupboards and grasping onto cans, hoping they’re full of something he wants to eat. The can opener isn’t much use when you’ve only got one fucking arm, but he managed to find a way to pry open a hold large enough to eat out of. Slick’s lived through worse, but he hates that he’s been reduced to eating cold food out of mystery cans, hoping for soup and beans, always getting tomato paste and canned corn instead. 

Paranoia sets in slowly. He reaches for a knife he knows he just put down, only to find that it’s not there. Slick trips over things he would swear were not in the middle of the fucking floor two minutes ago, and he’s left crawling on his hand and knees as he feels around him to make sure he’s not about to step on spilled marbles or something. But all of his suspicions are confirmed when he reaches into his drawer, looking for something to help him sleep, and he gets a hand-full of mouse trap. It hurts like an absolute fucker and he slams into walls on the way to the washroom, just so he can run some cold water over his hand to make it stop throbbing.

He can’t tell if he’s bleeding or not, not with the water running over him, but he does know one thing for sure; somebody’s in here with him. Slick wants to curse them out, dare them to show their cowardly fucking face so he can get a look at him, but Slick forces himself to stay silent. He can’t see them, and the moment he lets them know he’s aware they’re fucking with him, he’s going to miss his chance to bury a knife in their guts. 

And when he gets a hold of them, he’s going to stab them until they don’t even feel like a person. 

Slick bandages his hand up as best he can with only his mouth, knowing it looks like a fucking mess. He can still grab things though, so that’s about as good as it’s getting. Slick carefully makes his way around, focusing hard on listening. Now and then, he hears the soft sound of footsteps. They’re wearing some sort of shoe to muffle the otherwise loud sound of carapace on cement, but he can still hear them. While he’s shoving dinner into his mouth (cold pineapple and pie filling, fuck you Deuce for filling their pantry with this shit), he hears the chair beside him move. Slick keep scooping filling into his mouth, but he’s ready to grab his knife from his belt and jam it into him. 

The time comes, he reaches for his knife-

It’s not there. Instead, there’s a thump as the person drops something on the table, and he feels a gut-churning flood of emotions, notably fear, and relief. It’s Snowman. “If they could see you now, wearing the same clothes for a week straight, eating whatever you can get your hands on, no one would ever fear you again.” 

“You fucking bitch!” He lunges at her, half expecting her not to be there. But she is, and her arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in close. Slick has no knives on him and his hand is too hurt to do any more than paw at her. “You fucked up my hand! You already took my fucking arm, but you just had to fuck up my hand-”

“Of course I did. And if you could, we both know you’d do the same to me in a heartbeat.” Her mouth brushes against his ear as she speaks, lips grazing the hole set deep in his shell. Slick’s chest goes tight just thinking about that bitch in pieces, blood blue gushing over his hands. “When you get tired of living like a dog, let me know.” 

“Fuck you.” He hisses, and suddenly he’s on the floor, dropped by her in a heartbeat. He tries to grab hold of her before she goes, but all he gets is air. She’s gone. 

There aren’t any more items in his walking paths, and no mouse traps in his drawers. But he hears her walking through his apartment now and then, his feet loud against the cement floor. Apparently she’s decided against shoes, now that he knows she’s here. 

Now and then, he feels slight pressure against his back, his shoulders, his chest, and he reaches out, expecting to find her touching him. She’s never there, and he’s not sure if she’s really doing it, or if he’s being paranoid. His teeth grit together, biting back any words that might make the smug bitch think he’s reacting to her, and not to the situation. 

It’s hard to tell what day it is when you can’t mark the passing of time. Everything’s black all the time and he sleeps whenever he’s tired, which is all the time when he’s got nothing to do. The radio won’t work - her fucking fault he bets - and he can’t risk opening the manhole cover to see if he can tell if it’s night or day by the sound of traffic outside. If anybody sees him poking his head out, like some fucking mole, word will get around, and maybe his next visitor will be a rival with a gun in their hand. 

Days into it, he wakes up, only to find her in his bed. While he’s been sleeping in his clothes on top of the sheets, she’s burrowed underneath them. Her body temperature is what clues him into her presence, so warm when everything else is fucking cold. Slick lies very still on the sheets, trying to determine if she’s awake or not. When he can’t, he throws caution to the wind and reaches out to touch her. 

She doesn’t stir, breathing in and out soft and regular as his hand strokes over the curves in his sheets. He finds her hip, her side, the swell of her breasts, and finally a bare shoulder where the blanket ends. The hand sweeps up to her neck, and his fingers, still stiff from the mousetrap, awkwardly close around her throat. He couldn’t choke her even if he wanted to, but he takes some comfort from the illusion that he could. 

Slick holds his hand there for a while, but curiosity draws his attention away from her throat, and his hand dips low, wondering if she’s as naked as she feels. His hand drags over the interlocking plates, fingers noting when the ridges give away to her chest, and to the soft shell. In his dreams, he’s put his hands here many times, but he’s never really understood how good it feels. His hand cups a breast, squeezing it gently. Her shell is so soft, so warm, and his mouth waters. 

Just as he leans his head forward, her hand catches his chin and holds him. So she is awake. He refuses to take his hand off her breast, but she doesn't seem bothered by it. Instead, her fingers stroke along his jaw. “I think I like you like this.” 

He sneers at her, flashing his sharp teeth at her. Slick doesn't know if she can see him or not, if the lights are on or off, but he does it anyway. “Don’t get used to it. When I get my sight back-” 

“If you get your sight back.” She corrects him, and he feels her other hand touch his face, her fingers pressing over the eye-socket that isn't empty. “You may be blind for the rest of your life.” 

His gut lurches at the thought, but the hand on her breast keeps him focused on her. “I won’t be. You won’t let me be blind.” 

“Who says I won’t?” Her mouth presses briefly against his and he kisses her back, teeth at the forefront. She draws back before he can bite her. “I haven’t had so much fun in months as I have the past week. You’re a joy to torment Slick, even more so now that you've been reduced to skulking in the dark.” 

“If you wanted me on my knees, we both fucking know you would have done that years ago.” He presses his face hard against her fingers, leaning his head down to her breasts. “You like a challenge. You like knowing that somebody in this fucking rock isn’t afraid to fight you.” 

“Do I?” She sounds amused. Her fingers slip away from his face and Slick ducks his head in, getting a face full of blankets and body. It’s hard to feel his way around in the dark, especially with a bum hand, but he still manages to get her breasts free, and his mouth on one of them. Without sight, all his other senses are working overtime to feed him information. Until now, they were wasted on cold food and rough floors. Now, his tongue tastes flesh and it swipes over the soft skin of her nipples, feeling it grow stiff and plump with each lick. His hand cups the other breast, the weight of it comfortable in his hand, warm and firm, but still very malleable in his hand. Snowman sighs softly, a pleasurable sound in her throat, and a hand cups the back of his head, holding it as he goes to work. 

Slick’s hard first now, and all from his mouth on her breast. The nipple pops out of his mouth with a wet sucking sound, and he rubs his cheek against it, feeling it leave a wet smear of saliva against his shell. His mouth fixes on her other breast, grinning as that nipple hardens in his mouth as well. Slick’s sharp teeth tug on it, just to get a noise out of her, and she moans softly, as if somebody might hear her if she’s too loud. 

He creeps close to her, fitting his body against hers. The blanket separates them, but he finds a thigh to straddle and begins to slowly rub against her, taking some of the pressure off his cock. She just encourages him to keep touching her breasts, to keep his mouth sucking on her. 

Slick has always liked her tits, but there’s something about the dark that makes them even better. Without two hands, he’s forced to explore with his mouth and his face, using his nose and cheeks to find his place as he swaps from breast to breast, latching onto them eagerly as the nipple brushes against his mouth. He’s not too rough with them, though he does tug and bite a little now and then. Her thigh keeps the rest of his satisfied, his hips rutting against the firm surface, separated by his pants and blankets. Shell on shell would be good, but he satisfies himself with the extra friction the cloth brings him. His cock is leaking but he doesn't care, the wet fabric just making it easier to get a rhythm going. 

He’s not the only enjoying himself - he feels the shape of her wrist pushing against his upper hip as she rubs one out. Even with sheets in the way, he smells her cunt, that salty smell that makes him slightly hungry. He tugs on her nipple, tongue swiping across the sensitive pad caught in his teeth, and she moans in just the right way. His fingers seek out the other nipple, pinching and stroking it as best he can with his hurt fingers. The slight pain just makes him harder, and his thighs squeeze tight around her, thrusting faster. 

“If you never see again, I’ll weld the manhole cover shut and keep you down here.” Her voice is high, breathless, and her threats become even more of a turn on than usual as she pants them out. “I’ll leave boxes of canned foods for you to fumble your way through. I’ll move furniture and force you to creep everywhere you go. I’ll sit there just out of reach while you try to find me.” 

Slick thinks about chasing her through the dark and grunts softly. He wants to respond, but he’s unwilling to let go of her breast. Slick attempts to find a compromise by mumbling around her nipple, his face staying pressed against her tits. 

She chuckles, chest shaking as she does, causing his teeth to tug again and again on her. Snowman’s hand moves beneath the blanket, and his hips move in time with it, pretending for a moment that he’s inside of her. He could fuck her, if he wanted, but he likes having her breasts all to himself. “Maybe I’ll bring someone else with me, and you can listen to them fuck me in the dark.” 

His face turns up toward hers, flesh caught in his mouth. Slick’s hips jerk hard against her thigh, feeling a mix of arousal and hatred swam over him. She wants a response, and she’s willing to say anything to get it. Slick sneers in the dark, sucking on her nipple hard enough to make her moan. When he lets go to speak, his voice is equally changed, strained as he fights with his arousal. “You’ll lead me right to you. Nobody makes you as wet as I do. All I have to do is just follow the scent of your cunt and I’ll always find you. I’ll always fuck you better than anyone.” 

“Anyone?” She teases, but they both know it’s true. Even on Derse, they both knew she wanted to fuck him as badly as he wanted to fuck her. Of course, it would have been his head to force her to admit that, and after exile, he’d never gotten a chance to prove that he was right. But now he knows he was, he’s got proof under his hands, between her thighs. Another day, he’s going to bury his face in her cunt and make her scream. 

Today, he settles for seeking out her nipple again, sucking it into his mouth when his lips find it. Her wrist moves faster, and he can just imagine her finger busy between her thighs, stroking and thrusting and rubbing. His own hips do the same, moving quickly as he feels the pressure building in his pelvis. She shifts, dislodging him momentarily. Slick grunts to protest, his mouth coming free from her breast. “Fucking watch it.” 

She pushes fingers against his lips, shoving them inside. He blinks with shock, the salty taste flooding his mouth. The shifting makes sense now; she was switching hands. He sucks in her fingers, hips moving at double speed. Her hand does the same beneath the blankets, pushing against her clit with the same frantic speed that his cock rubs against her thigh. Slick licks and sucks her fingers, trying to taste every last bit of her. His hand keeps on her breasts, but he knows her attention is on his mouth, and on the fingers in it. She’s breathing hard and so is he, and as he bobs on her fingers, tongue seeking out every last crevasse where the taste of her is hiding, he stops holding back. One thrust, two thrust, his mouth bottoms out at the base of her fingers, and he comes with a hard grunt. 

It’s a good orgasm, the kind that leaves him dazed and dulled, barely aware of the mess he’s made in his pants. She’s still stroking herself, but not for long. The hand slips out of his mouth and he lays his cheek against her breast, feeling her breathing rise and rise, and then fall with a shudder and moan. Her thigh twitches beneath his legs, all of her body tensing and then falling loose as she comes too. Slick wishes he could see her face, but just feeling her come is pretty good too. 

They stay tangled up in each other for a while, long enough for Slick to become aware that his suit is now a sticky cold mess from all the sweating he’s done in it. He struggles, trying to undress, and her fingers help him draw off his clothing. When he’s bare, she tucks him beneath the blankets with her, letting him feel exactly how very naked she is. 

Slick’s aware that she’s only letting him be this close to her vulnerable body because he can’t hurt her. There’s something nice about it, knowing that he’s getting to do what most others haven’t. With his head nestled against her breast, he thinks for a moment that he could get used to this. It’s been forever since he’s seen anything, and he’s starting to suspect this might be permanent. He’ll need someone to look after him if he is. 

But he’s still not sure that person could ever be Snowman. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep, knowing things will be different tomorrow. 

She’s gone when he wakes up next. Slick dresses in something he thinks is probably clean and carefully heads for breakfast, scooting his feet out ahead of him to make sure she hasn't left something for him to trip over. The smell of fresh food makes his stomach rumble, and he finds a carton of take-out on the kitchen table. It’s noodles, now lukewarm from sitting out for who knows how long. It’s still warmer than anything he’s had in days, and he quickly shovels it into his mouth, wondering if it’s day or night outside. 

His question is answered a few hours later when the doctor arrives and he finds out that apparently the fucking bitch took all of the light bulbs out of the sockets, which is why he hasn't seen any fucking improvement in his ability to see. With the bulbs put back in, he finds that while his vision is blurry, he is able to see colours, differences in light, and even shapes. 

“Just give it another week or two, and if it doesn't improve, give me another call. Otherwise, I’d say you’re healing nicely.” He’s so pleased by this turn of events that he even gives the doctor a little something for her trouble. And then, he goes to the pantry and squints until he finds a can of fucking pork and beans and cooks that shit for dinner. It’s amazing, the best thing he’s had in weeks, besides those noodles from earlier. 

As he eats, he wonders if she’ll show up again tonight, but finds that he already knows the answer to that one. Whatever they had, that moment of tenderness or whatever you’d call it, was entirely dependent on him being helpless in the dark. The lights are on and he can see, and she won’t risk showing her face while the lights are on. 

He jams his fork into his meal, convincing himself that he’s not disappointed. Spades fucking Slick has better things to do than mope over something that couldn't have ever been. He’s got an appointment to kill Lord English, soon as he figure out some solution for his missing arm, and he’s going to keep it.


End file.
